


The Endless Expanse of Immortality

by CleotheDreamer



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempt at Humor, Gen, Master of Death Harry Potter, Poor Harry, Rebirth, Reincarnation, Sarcasm lives in Harry's conciousness, Sassy Harry Potter, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:27:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22605493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CleotheDreamer/pseuds/CleotheDreamer
Summary: He wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. The boy-who-lived was now the son of Hades, oh, the irony. But, he couldn’t really think of any other god that would fit. After all, he’d cheated death twice, Hades had to be involved somehow.In which Harry is Fate's Chew-Toy until the very end.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase & Harry Potter, Hades & Harry Potter, Percy Jackson & Harry Potter
Comments: 118
Kudos: 798





	1. The Devil’s Apologies are Meaningless Things

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo, folks! I know the Percy Jackson fandom's been kinda dying out on Archive, so I hope I can reach you few left. If you're just here for some sassy Harry, then that's cool too! This is gonna be sporadically updated, but I thought I should get it out there!
> 
> Have fun!

He wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. The boy-who-lived was now the son of Hades, oh, the _irony_. But, he couldn’t really think of any other god that would fit. After all, he’d cheated death twice, Hades had to be involved somehow.

  


Really, did he expect any other god could produce the Master of Death? Did he think any other god could create a body to house a soul touched by death?

  


No, he really didn’t…

  


But, _seriously_? Did he always have to stand out?

  


~

It started like this, you see, he was a successful guy after the war – a little too much hero worship and a little too much arse-kissing but he dealt with it. He made a family and was looking forward to moving on from the war when he saw them, sitting innocuously in a neat pile on his bed.

  


The Deathly Hallows.

He was not ashamed to say that he reacted by swiftly pulling out his wand and blowing the damned things up. Actually, he was quite proud of that reaction, now that he thought about it.

  


Anyway, the point was, he destroyed them and apparated to throw their ashen husks as far away as he could reach.

  


And then they were gone and he breathed a sigh of relief; played it off as a bad dream from the war and proceeded to forget about it – pushing it away into the corner of his mind that was labeled _do not touch_ and throwing out the key after locking it inside. But then, Albus left for Hogwarts and he walked into his room and they were _right there_.

  


And this time – he screamed. Oh, but it wasn’t a terrified shriek. It was more of an angry wail of “NO, NO, NO! DEATH WHY DO YOU TORTURE ME SO!”

  


Somehow, he wasn’t surprised when Death responded.

  


So, he lived his life in a state of avoidance from then on. He pretended that Death hadn’t told him that there was no way to get rid of the Hallows, avoided that one day he’d have to face what that meant for him, and most of all, he ignored any and all thoughts on the subject of his upcoming death – weird that he’d died already, but it was probably the reason he was Death’s ‘Master’ in the first place.

  


Quite annoyingly, all of this avoidance lead to his death being a rather stressful affair for everyone involved. Considering he could, quite literally, see Death themselves floating by his bedside, it wasn’t so astonishing. If that wasn’t creepy and stressful than he didn’t know what was.

  


He died surrounded by family, though, which had to count for something. And, if he looked back at his life he would say he was content with it which made him all the more pissed when he had to have that conversation with Death that dealt with what his title as the Master of Death meant for him.

  


Death greeted him with a nod and Harry bristled a little, upset that Death and he were so well acquainted.

  


“What do you want? Can I go to the Afterlife in peace, now? I am your master, right?” Harry asked, a little hope leaking into the questions and seeping in his heart like a snake coiling to strike.

  


Death shook their head, voice void of emotion as they said, “No, the title of Master makes you an immortal soul. You are no longer able to partake in the same things mortal souls go through after Death. Your title as the Master of Death does not mean you control your entire situation or me.”

  


“What does that mean for me? Why can’t I just go see my family again?” he asked, his tone pleading, as the little hope inside him cracked his heart at its rejection.

  


Death tilted their head, “It means you will never stop living. You have choices for how you want this to happen, but you are still not immune to the whims of Fate.”  
  


Harry growled, putting his hands through his hair in frustration, “Okay, and how will I not stop living?”

  


“You may reincarnate consciously, retaining your memories and sense of self, or you may remain in your original physical form now and spend all of time in your body, never aging except by choice. When you die in your next iteration, you will regain this choice again. Your soul is immortal meaning it is not tied to this mortal plane. You have the ability to travel both time and space, but you cannot control me or the direction you travel. You are both above me and below me. What is your choice?”

  


Harry sighed wearily, glad that he somewhat understood that, and thought about what he should do. “I’m assuming I won’t be able to rejoin my family if said I wanted to remain in my present form?”

  


“No, you may not. Your body has died in that dimension, only your soul may return.”

  


“So, I could get reborn into my world but not remain as I am now?”

  


They nodded their head in acquiescence, “You may.”

  


Harry pushed the bridge of his glasses up his nose, slightly amused that his glasses were so ingrained into his identity that they made it into being a part of his soul.

  


“Alright, then. How about I get reborn? I’m not keen on being immortal in a world that I have zero connections to.”

  


“I have no control over your Fate. I only initiate the process, the time and whereabouts of your rebirth, as well as your destiny, are not determined by me.”

  


“So you’re saying I could become Fate’s chew toy again?” Harry asked, a little annoyed that the title he’d been forced into didn’t have nearly enough perks to be tolerable. Hell, he was already forced into immortality, at least make it a cozier ride.

  


“Yes,” Death said, still as monotone as they began.

  


Harry thought for a moment before sagging and nodding his head, “Again, I’d rather not be Fate’s punching bag, but I think having a chance at a family would be nice. Rebirth it is,” he finished, clapping his hands once and looking at Death expectantly.

  


Death nodded, “As you wish.”

  


And the next thing he knew was warmth and a vague sense of consciousness that quickly faded as he slept inside his mother’s womb.


	2. The Significance of a Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hush, my sweet little Hadrian. Mommy’s here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, Harry's getting a family! Sweet Jesus does the boy need therapy, though.

He awoke to pain, sharp and all-encompassing as he felt his life being squeezed out of him before it even began. Right when he thought he would crack under the pressure, it was released and his skin burned in response to the cold air around him as if it was sandpaper on his skin.

He bellowed a heaving cry, his lungs burning from the actions and promptly panicked when his mind caught up with what had happened. It took him forever to calm down from realizing that he had, in fact, just experienced his new birth. It was only because he fell into the warm arms of someone he just knew was his _mother_ that he instantly relaxed into that he was able to calm down at all.

She was warm and her heartbeat and voice were familiar as she whispered sweet nothings at him. He could see her soft smile and warm brown eyes even through his own undeveloped ones and cooed happily at her face.

(It was supposed to be a sigh, but Harry really didn’t think anything could be more humiliating than witnessing one’s own birth from their mother’s vagina so he wasn’t quite ashamed by his baby body right then. He was sure it would kick in later, but he was too glad to really care. He had a _mother_ now.)

“ – little Hadrian. Mommy’s here, my little hero.”

That sounded both sweet and ominous and he should really think about that before – oh, she was just _so warm_. Was this what a mother’s hug felt like? He was so warm and happy and his eyelids were falling closed and –

What was he thinking about? Nothing seemed to matter right then, so he was just going to fall asleep now and take a long nap with his mother…

His _mother_. His heart still beat a little faster at that thought.

He had a _mother_ now.

He wiggled down and sighed contentedly. He didn’t think he was up for intelligent analysis of his situation right then. He was warm and tired and sleep sounded quite appealing.

~

He was six months old when he met his father. He had almost given up hope on the man, though he had heard from his mother that it wasn’t entirely the man’s fault for his absence he was still unsure of the credibility. After all, he would have never let _anything_ come between him and his children.

When he met his father, he should have been more surprised. The man came out of the shadows in his room and emitted a power so strong he could have drowned in it. But, instead of feeling intimidated, he felt like he was being wrapped up in a hug.

He couldn’t help it – he was only sixth months old – he giggled. The being, for he was no ordinary man, cracked a small smile, his stern face softening in the face of Harry’s newborn self.

The man was tall and, although the power rolling off him was immense, it didn’t seem like he was even tapping the surface of all that he had at his disposal. His handsome face was pale and chiseled and his eyes were impossibly dark and almost mad. His hair reminded Harry of Sirius’s and it made his heart pang for a second before he forced it away to keep examining the man. He had on a black suit which the shadows curled possessively around and Harry somehow knew that this man was his _father_.

He should have been scared, honestly. A powerful, imposing man coming into his nursery while he’s lying on the crib sounded eerily familiar, but he couldn’t bring himself to panic. This man was safe, he could feel it. He was dangerous, that much was obvious, but Harry knew that that power would never be directed at him.

Strange, right?

The man came to his crib and picked him up, and Harry couldn’t help but coo. He had gotten awfully good at initiating adorable baby techniques in the past sixth months and he’d be damned if he didn’t do good on his practice now, of all times.

The man smiled again, larger, as Harry grabbed his finger in a chubby fist, poking his face with an open palm, curiously.

“Hello, son,” the man whispered, his voice deep and rich and echoing in his bones, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t come sooner. My family is already so suspicious of me, one misstep and they will know. I must keep you hidden from them at all costs. You are too precious to lose, my son.”

He frowned. That didn’t sound right. Why would it be so terrible if his family found out about his kid? He was making it sound dangerous which, now that he thought about it, might have been the case. After all, Fate could have made him another Chosen One, or something equally stupid.

Right at that moment, his mother burst in. Eyes wide and panting with anxiety, she held a shotgun in her hands and Harry was once again reminded that he was most definitely no longer in Britain.

His mother had a _shotgun_. In New York!

Upon seeing who was in the room, she relaxed, dropping the shotgun bonelessly to her side.

“Hades?” she asked, relief in her voice, “you scared me half to death.”

“I’m sorry, I just came to check up on my son.”

Harry saw the exact moment both of them realized the implications of his words. Instantly, his mother’s eyes grew cold and the air around ‘Hade’s’ grew resigned.

“ _Our_ son,” she bit out, and Harry smiled at her fierce love for him. He was so glad for his new mother, “And his name is Hadrian.”

“Roman?” his father asked, his brows furrowing into a frown, “Why not Greek?”

His mother bristled even more and Harry couldn’t help but laugh (though it sounded more like a gurgling giggle). Although he was confused about why the difference mattered in the first place, he thought it was honestly amusing how his father seemed so clueless to things you were _not_ supposed to say to new mothers.

“Because I liked it,” she retorted hotly, though Harry thought it was more because Fate loved messing with him and was cackling at the irony of his name at that very moment.

‘Hades’ – and what was with that name – just raised an eyebrow and sighed. “Alright.”

He turned his face back to Harry and Harry, when asked, would refuse to admit how much it pleased him when that face visibly softened when looking at him. Well, that was one thing off the list of things Fate could screw with – a father that loved him.

Though he was unsure if the man would actually be a loving father figure, it was clear that the man cared for him.

And that was all Harry really needed.

"I’m so sorry I can’t be there for you, but your uncles will try to kill you if they found out I broke the oath. Knowing them, they’ll forget that Fate cannot be fought. No matter. You’re here and healthy now and I will always watch over you, even if you were to join my Kingdom in death. And your life will be full of death, my son. I’m afraid it is the curse of a demigod and the curse of being my son. Death will follow you like a shroud and your life is destined to be short and painful.”

What kind of fucked up family was this? My kingdom? Please tell him this man was an overenthusiastic role-player. And seriously Fates? A short and painful life? Goddammit all!

“Hades!” his mother chastised, “stop talking to Harry about death! You’re supposed to tell him children’s stories, not tell him he’s going to die!”

“Death is his birthright, Samantha.”

She grumbled, “I told you to call me Sammy,” before saying “that doesn’t mean you tell him he’s _going_ to die. Just because his being is connected to the Underworld, doesn’t mean he’s going to appreciate the thought of his own death.”

“He doesn’t understand what I’m saying.”

“Yes, but the words are imprinting! He’s learning the language through what we’re saying and I don’t want his first words to be ‘Die’!”

Hades paused, “it would be very fitting.”

She threw up her hands in exasperation and started walking away. “I don’t suppose you’ll knock in the future?” she called over her shoulder.

“Gods don’t knock, Samantha,” he smirked.

“Stupid gods, my name is _Sammy!_ ” she grumbled before slamming the door. Hades – who Harry was beginning to realize was _actually Hades_ – smiled down at him.

“Your mother is a feisty woman. I never thought I’d have gone for her or any mortal as I was upholding my oath, but the Fates drew us together to create you, little one. You must have a great destiny if the Fates tied your very essence.”

If Harry was an adult he’d have groaned. As it was, he settled for a pitiful whimper as the air thickened with Hade’s melancholy.

“Ah, you can sense my emotions, can’t you little one? All my children seem to be very good at that,” he pushed his finger into Harry’s face and sighed as Harry clutched it tightly, “I am so sorry for bringing you this life, little one. If I could have fought Fate, I would’ve, but even gods do not have that strength. Demigods do not have it easy; especially my children. But, I believe in you. You will make a great hero, little Hadrian. You were named after a strong and enlightened Roman Emperor. It will suit you well.”

Hades leaned down to press a kiss on Harry’s forehead, his large hand brushing at his peach fuzz.

“I am always watching over you. You will probably grow to resent my absence and I will not fault you for it, but I will always be there for you even if resentment grows to hate.”

He rested his pointer finger on Harry’s forehead and began to whisper a chant. And, although Harry was trying his absolute best to keep his eyes open, his eyelids weighed down and he lost himself to Morpheus.

Well, that was if Greek gods were as real as he was beginning to think they were.

~

His father was a Greek god. The god of the Underworld to be precise. It was rather obvious the more he kept visiting as Hades continued to do things that were both impossible for muggles – ahem, mortals – and wizards, alike.

Hades was always stoic but loving during his visits, and no matter how nearly clinical his father could be in his affections, Harry still basked in the softness of his father’s eyes and the curl of his lips whenever he looked at him.

It didn’t last, of course, as all good things were wont to do in the life of Harry Potter – or, Hadrian Johnson, he supposed. At the age of one and a half, his father left him with a kiss and a murmured chant of protection. There was a promise that his father would always watch over him mixed in, but Harry had heard it enough to focus more on the feel of his father’s last embrace than his exact words.

He was left feeling strangely empty when his father disappeared in the shadows of his room, leaving him for the last time.

Harry sighed, gurgling despondently. He rolled in his crib to face the baby monitor and wondered if he should give in to his urge to wail if only to wake his mother for her embrace.

To his utter shame, he did.

She rushed in as she always did, her brown eyes warm with concern as he sniffled into her shirt. She was an amazing woman with a fierce mouth that reflected her fiery temper. Harry imagined that she was like a rougher around the edges version of his original mom, based on all the stories he’d heard. She wasn’t a gentle woman except to him, but under her coarse tongue, she was fiercely loyal and kind.

He really loved her very much. He tried not to think about his old parents too much, having to will away the feeling of shame in his heart when he wondered if he was betraying their memory with this easy acceptance of parental love from an entirely new source. He had to remind himself that he had no real memories of Lilly and James Potter and that this woman was his mother now, anyway, and it wasn’t shameful to love one’s mother.

“Hush, my sweet little Hadrian. Mommy’s here.”

Yes, it wasn’t shameful to love his mother. God knows he needed her.

Though, he supposed it might be ‘gods know’, now, even though that didn’t sound right at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Hades, honestly.


	3. In Which Children Fight Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not only did Greek gods apparently exist, their horrifying eldritch myths had to as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kinda like a fun filler chapter to get into Harry’s voice and set up some background. He’s gonna be a mixture of totally exasperated father, sassy little shit, and tired immortal who couldn’t give a crap about social norms.
> 
> I’m not gonna add too much world-building besides canon with this because I think Rick Riordan did plenty of that and this is more of a comedy/adventure than a study of Percy Jackson. I will be focusing my energy more on making realistic canon divergences as, let’s be honest, Harry would totally destroy the pre-existing plot. So this will definitely be at least a little different but it’ll hopefully be in a nice balance of pre-existing plot and new content rather than entirely new content or a totally rehashed story.
> 
> Also, yes Harry calls his mom ‘mom’ not ‘mum’ because he doesn’t have to break a lifetime of habit of calling anyone ‘mum’ so I think it would actually be an easy American-ism for him to pick up.

Being a child again wasn’t terrible. Granted, his first childhood left much to be desired, but he really had nothing to complain about this time around.

Until primary – excuse him, _preschool_ – came around.

_Yes_ , he’d been a father for decades and _yes_ he’d died – thrice! – but nothing would temper his fear of young children. Being in a room with them for six hours?

  
Hell.

Or, well, Tartarus.

Let’s just say that preschool absolutely sucked and get it over with. Why couldn’t he just test out of school? Maybe homeschool?

They didn’t even know how to _eat_ properly!

He thought he scared the teachers, too, but it wasn’t _his_ fault that Josh startled him into pseudo-judo-flipping him into the ground – and wasn’t that a funny phrase? Pseudo-judo-flipping?

The snot-nosed brat had been asking for it, really, and Harry had snapped. He felt bad, yes, but the little creep had a _knife_! What was a guy who’d gone to war _supposed_ to think? That it was harmless plastic?

Well, technically _yes_ that’s what he was supposed to think, considering he was _supposed_ to be an average 5-year-old. As average as you could be with a god as your father, that was.

Which was to say not very average at all. His mom hadn’t even looked surprised.

He wondered what was normal for the typical child like him. Was he a human? He’d be a demigod, right?

Bloody hell, he was half _god._

_Half. God._

Anyway, to avoid that monstrously horrifying line of thought, let him tell you about the _actual_ monsters. Because not only did Greek gods apparently exist, their horrifying eldritch myths had to as well.

He never wanted to see another bird again after the one with bronze feathers attacked him after eating a cat right in front of him.

New York was _weird_.

He hadn’t really thought about how different it would be from Britain, considering he’d been integrated into the arguably weirder community of magic at age 11, but comparing it to what he knew of both magic and muggle Britain, well.

It seemed unfair to consider Dumbledore’s fashion choices as abysmal once he’d seen a man dressed as a baby and a woman with 3 differently colored rats on her shoulder.

And he didn’t mean differently colored like black, brown, or white – no. He meant colored as in _dyed_ neon pink, blue, and green.

_Green!_

_  
_ He might have been so uncomfortable with the idea of having rats for pets because of his past experiences, but he felt he was entirely justified to that. You try liking rats when your best friend’s pet turns out to be the reason your parents died and the person who framed your godfather for their murder.

Anyway, New York was weird, but it was _fun._ Perhaps being a child again wouldn’t have been so fun if he hadn’t had a terrible childhood the first time around, but he did so, y’know, biscuits.

Lots and lots of biscuits – or, well, _cookies._

He’d had a hard time explaining to his mom why he wouldn’t call biscuits _cookies,_ but that didn’t stop a supply of biscuits from constantly filling the cookie jar next to the stove. Harry was unashamed to say that he definitely snuck biscuits from the cookie jar.

Hey, they had a cookie jar that he was _allowed_ to eat from, let him be.

~

Harry recognized two things in this life pertaining to himself that were vastly different. The first being that he suddenly had ADHD and dyslexia and the second being his fluent reading of Ancient Greek. If he had any doubts on the origin of his father’s name after seeing him step out of a shadow, they were all expunged by his sudden, inherited knowledge of a _dead_ language.

His mom was a bit of a bibliophile and was into classic Greek literature so there was a decent number of books lining a bookshelf in their living room. Harry had noticed the dyslexia then when he’d tried to read some of the books lining the bottom shelf. His mom had thought it was cute that he was trying to read ‘grown-up’ books, but he’d almost thrown the book across the room in frustration when he tried to read the first sentence but couldn’t.

But then, once he’d grown tall enough to reach the second shelf, he’d found the Odyssey. He hadn’t noticed it at first, too engrossed with finding a book he could actually _read_ , but once he was 3 pages in, he began to think that maybe he’d just been too young for his body to compute the memories of his past life with his present body.

Until, his mom walked in and joked that he ‘shouldn’t try to read Latin before learning English, silly’ and he noticed that, huh. The words on the page were not, in fact, English, but rather something he definitely should not have known how to read.

Brilliant. The power to read Ancient Greek but not English. How exciting.

He briefly thought that Hermione would have been thrilled but pushed that down because he did _not_ want to think about his past life any more than he had to. Harry ~~Potter~~ Johnson was stubborn to a fault and right then he was stubbornly refusing to acknowledge that he had a past life and would continue to live for all eternity and would never reach an afterlife and –

See? That was a rabbit hole he didn’t want to jump into.

So, he went to school, pretended he was a normal kid, failed spectacularly, and learned how not to die when strange creatures attacked him.

He was almost thankful the bird with the sharp bronze feathers attacked him first. At least now he had a weapon to use when other Ancient Greek monstrosities tried their luck against him.

~

  
  
Harry first saw Percy Jackson at his primary – sorry, _elementary_ school – when he got in a fight to defend a kid against a bully. Harry tried to stop it before it escalated, secretly cheering on the kid, but Percy still got caught by the teacher’s and was expelled by the end of the year. Harry was pissed off to note that the bully didn’t get any sort of punishment and resolved to make a friend out of the kid with obvious hero tendencies and a penchant for pissing off authority.

What could he say? He felt a kinship with the twerp. He was adorable and kindhearted and just as quick to anger as he had been (and still was).

But he had zero classes with him as the boy was a fourth-grader while he was a second-grader (bugger that, being so young) and school ended too soon for him to try to make friends with him. So, he watched Percy Jackson leave on the last day of school feeling as if he was missing something rather important.

~

Harry’s eyes were still the bright emerald green of his past mother’s and he supposed it made sense. Eyes were the window to the soul, and it was his soul that was reborn not his body. Though his body looked very similar to his original one if not for being slimmer in almost every other feature – almost more feminine.  
  


His skin tone was also paler, but a shade different as if his undertone was olive even though his skin was lighter than before.

His hair was fluffier than it used to be as well. It was still messy, but in a way that stemmed from having curly hair rather than hair that stuck up straight in every direction. His mother had the same soft curls he did so he rather liked them and even entertained the idea of growing his hair before thinking that, no, he wasn’t quite ready to change that much about him.

Plus, it could always be hazardous when it came to getting grabbed in battle or something.

His mom hated skulls as decorations and thought they were too gruesome to put on children’s clothing which Harry found amusing considering his parentage. At first, she’d tried to dress him in bright orange and blue t-shirts, but it was as if he was physically repulsed by anything that wasn’t a shade of black or grey. Now, he wore the clothing of an edgy toddler trying to assert dominance over his peers because he was already feeling the effects of low self-esteem.

Or maybe one of those kids who was too interested in poking at the remains of dead animals.

What? Dead animal remains were interesting! Perhaps that was the half-god part of him, but _still!_  
  


Anyway, he wore a lot of black and a _lot_ of shirts patterned with skulls. He wanted to feel bad about exasperating his mom, but he thought it was a decent compromise in the end when she refused to get him fake glasses. He really missed the familiar weight of them on his nose.

His eyes might have looked the same, but his eyesight this time around was near perfect. Perks of being a demigod, he supposed.

He was healthier this time around too, which was a given considering his past guardians, and he wondered if that would affect his height when he got older. He’d been rather short as Harry Potter, but he didn’t know if that was from a diet lacking the proper nutrients as a child or if he was just destined to be short.

Either way, his mom was making him eat his vegetables so if he did turn out to be short than it was probably just meant to be.

He had to wonder if the projection of who he was at his soul would look the same even if he died in this new body, though. Would he still have his glasses?

…He really missed his glasses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you miss your glasses more than your family ;( 
> 
> (Jk he totally misses his friends and family, he’s just not processing his grief yet because he’s in a looong stage of denial.)


	4. Chasing the Last Rays of Sunlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having a 10-year-old who looked like a teenager suddenly follow you around like a stalker with a crush was not the most comfortable of transitions back into the world of socialization, but he tried to make do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so just to make it clear, only in this chapter do the monster attacks start getting frequent and he was almost nine (almost a 4th grader) at the end of last chapter as it was kinda skipping through years. He will be nine throughout the events of the lightning thief and that _will_ cause problems and be addressed. Also, his first monster was purposefully one that’s mainly super dangerous in large groups and has sharp bronze feathers it shoots from its wings to kill its prey (the Stymphalian bird). This meant it had built-in weapons and Harry killed it with its own feathers and kept them with him when he realized more things might attack him and he didn’t really have any access to combat knives. He doesn’t know monsters can’t be killed with steel as he hasn’t tried to kill them with anything but the feather swords he has from the Stymphalian bird – because, like, feather swords (made of bronze)! Why would he risk his mother's wrath from stealing a kitchen knife when he has something like that he can use?
> 
> Also, considering Harry’s died twice now, he’s gonna have some unhealthy mentalities of how to approach things after being reborn and his response to monsters attacking him is purposefully worrisome. And, let’s be honest, he wouldn’t give a fuck about his own safety, he only gets super stressed if other people are at risk.
> 
> He just has some interesting mentalities in general. Hence the reason he thinks a shotgun is crazy even though he literally had a stick that could make explosions at age 11.
> 
> Introduced another OC, b/c, y'know, _Satyrs_. Tell me if you want him to be a reappearing character or not, b/c he could fit into the plot I have planned pretty easily but he also doesn't have to be important.

Harry had just turned 9 when he met Silas. Their first meeting occurred when Harry noticed the kid following him while he walked home from school one day.

That was already strange enough but, had it not set the tone for their entire friendship, Harry might have given the kid the benefit of the doubt. As it was, Harry felt he would have to get reacquainted with the wonderful life of trying to teach kids that stalking was inappropriate.

(Which would probably be easier this time around, considering Silas's parents most likely weren't contributing to the issue as well. Lord knew how many stalkers he had while he was Harry Potter that were just products of their parent's fanaticism.)

Harry was used to being alone – being an old man stuck in a child's body wasn't the most conducive for making friends – but he'd yet to have anyone actually challenge his isolation. Having a 9-year-old who looked like a teenager suddenly follow you around like a stalker with a crush was not the most comfortable of transitions back into the world of socialization, but he tried to make do.

Who was he to turn down a kid who just wanted a friend?

Silas was strange in other ways too, but Harry wasn't one to judge. He swore the kid ate aluminum cans, but he'd yet to get proper evidence for it.

He had a round face and bronze-colored skin with close-cut, softly coiled hair. Even with his soft and unblemished skin, he looked to be 16 because of his height and defined jawline.

Besides his stalking, though, he was pretty socially aware. He probably would've been popular had he not been both friends with Harry and crippled. (Though Harry hoped it was just because of his friendship with the 'weird kid' and not because of his health issues.)

As it was, Silas was still fairly liked among the grade and Harry was thankful for the company.

What he wasn't thankful for was the constant discussions about greek mythology Silas seemed so interested in starting. Harry knew it was important information considering _his_ situation, but they weren't even learning about it in school yet so why did _Silas_ care?

“Do you know how Athena was born, Harry?” Silas asked at lunch one day.

“Yes.”

“How?”

“She came out of Zeus's forehead,” Harry said.

“But why?” Silas asked, seeming stressed by his short responses.

“I don't know, 'cause Zeus was a man-whore?” Harry asked, rolling his eyes and stabbing his spork into his brown peas. American cafeteria food sucked – and that wasn't just because he was used to Hogwart's quality cuisine.

Silas choked on nothing and Harry thought he should probably not use offensive language in front of a child.  
  


(He should also apologize to man-whores, considering it was arguably more offensive to be compared to Zeus.)

“Sorry, Zeus was just...loose,” Harry said because he couldn't waste the opportunity to rhyme even though that phrase was probably worse than calling a god a whore.

“Don't say that,” Silas hissed eyes showing such serious fear that Harry began to reevaluate the kid's interest in Greek mythology, “that's _extremely_ inappropriate.”

“I know,” Harry said, side-eyeing Silas who looked near-hyperventilating with panic, “but the truth is sometimes worse than fiction.”

Somehow, Silas's dark skin had turned white as a sheet.

  
Yeah, this kid was more than just vaguely suspicious. But, Harry wasn't about to go back to his stalking habits as well. After thirty years of therapy he was forced into by Hermione, he'd been taught to reevaluate his approach to paranoia. Though it wasn't entirely dismantled, he liked to think of himself as better at confronting his problems rather than jumping to conclusions.

Just. Ask.

…But, how do you ask a kid: 'hey, are you following me because you know I'm a demigod? Oh, no, you _aren't?_ Well, that's good to know. Sorry for being suspicious. No, I'm not insane _or_ hallucinating.'

Yeah, that wouldn't go down well.

Or, maybe it would. There was that one girl in his homeroom who swore she was a mermaid and there was a boy in the year above who claimed to be a wizard.

Which, well, wasn't _entirely_ impossible, but the point still stood: children could get away with a lot of stuff. He'd learned that at Hogwarts, but he thought that that was just a wizarding thing. It seemed, though, that nonmagical people were just as prone to lacking critical thinking skills when it came to dealing with children as wizards were.

(Why Dumbledore had decided to hide a valuable object such as the Philosopher's Stone at a _school_ was beyond him.)

Anyway, back to the suspicious child who'd stalked him for weeks.

“Why do you care so much about me knowing Greek mythology?” Harry asked.

There. That was concise and to the point but it didn't reveal any of Harry's 'cards', so to speak.

Silas pursed his lips and shiftily averted his eyes.

“I just... find it interesting,” he said.

Yeah, nope. That was not the face of an innocent.

Time for plan 'avoidance'.

He should've been suspicious the first time Silas asked which of the gods he felt most connected to. Maybe Harry was losing his touch.

~

Silas was not an easy kid to hide from. Though, he was starting to think he wasn't a kid at all. When Harry ducked into side streets on the way home, hiding behind trash cans to get Silas off of his trail, he'd see Silas sniff the air before coming down the alleyway towards him. He'd always get distressed after seemingly losing the scent before eventually heading home.

Or, to wherever he went after school. Harry was trying _really_ hard not to return the favor and go and stalk the kid. Perhaps Silas was a demigod as well and he had some kind of godly sniffing power.

('Don't make assumptions, Harry. He's 9-years-old, how harmful can he be?' his inner Hermione asked.

'Very harmful,' he responded, ignoring the pang of grief in his chest.)

  
Harry sometimes wondered if the fact that he could see monsters where other people were blind to them had something to do with his demigod status or was because he had magic. It wasn't like he could levitate things anymore, so he hoped the universe was trying to pay him back in some way.

Though, then he had to assume that Silas was most likely not a monster. The fact that he might be a demigod wasn't all that comforting.

~

He didn't meet many monsters, but when he did, he preferred to avoid them.

(Man, the commercials here were really getting stuck in his head. He'd never watched much T.V. as a wizard, but it was very apparent that he was becoming addicted to cartoons.)

Mainly, though, he ran and hid before they could find him. He found that he could pretty easily hide within shadows and wondered if that was another demigod power.

  
Maybe one day he could disappear within them entirely like a mock invisibility cloak.

Either way, monsters weren't overwhelming.

Until they were.

~

“Oh sweet Jesus, Harry! What are you doing?!” his mom yelled as he stepped away from the downed snake-thing he’d just defeated.

(It just seemed to be a large snake, so he was only sure that it was a monster because of the gold dust and snake fang left over. Perhaps it was like the snakes Hera sent to kill Heracles – just a 'large snake'.)

He winced at her reaction. So much for trying to hide _that_ from his mom.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me they were after you?!” she screamed, shock replaced with worry and anger as she rushed to check him over for injuries.

“I thought we had more time, Jesus, you’re just a – god, you’re just a _kid,_ ” his normally slow to cry mother sobbed, tears leaking from her eyes and causing him to panic.

Ah, shit. He really wanted to curse right then, but the threat of soap in his mouth was suitable to deter him

“... Sorry?” Oops. Never question an apology.

She choked on a furious sob, lightly smacking the back of his head before she crushed him in a suffocating hug.

“What were you thinking?!”

  
“That I'm too young to die?” he asked, though that wasn't really true. He was astoundingly old when he compared his decently old wizarding age to the average, nonmagical human lifespan.

She just cried harder, which, fair. He'd been a father once before and he didn't think he could've handled a child who acted like he did now. She was a pretty incredible woman for being able to deal with him.

“Pack up your things, you have to go.”

Harry's stomach dropped.

“What?” he asked, voice panicked as his mind blanked. He'd just gotten a family. It couldn't end now, could it?

“I – I'm sorry, I didn't mean – “

“Just,” his mom took a deep breath, “You can't be here anymore. It's not safe."

He swallowed down bile and nodded. Of course it wouldn't last. He was Harry ~~Potter~~ Johnson. Nothing good ever lasted for him.

(He liked to think that he wasn't overreacting, but he'd use the fact that he was in a kid's body to explain his lack of rationality when it came to dissecting her statement. She wanted him safe, obviously, but at that moment all he heard was that she wanted him _gone._ )

Sniffling a little and cursing the fact that he had let himself hope in the first place, he trudged back to his room. Gathering his clothes and other personal effects, he dully packed a duffle-bag and changed out of his dirty outfit.

His mom was waiting for him in the entryway, her shoulders tense and her face blank. His stomach dropped at the look and he avoided her eyes.

She deflated and knelt on the floor beside him.

“Honey, look at me. You're not in trouble,” she said.

The tiredness in her voice didn't convince him, but he met her gaze all the same. She looked frustrated, but she seemed more frazzled than angry.

“We're going to get in the car and I'll explain everything on the way. Right now, all you need to know is that we're going to a safe-haven of sorts.”

“Alright,” Harry said, knowing not to argue.

Packing up their old silver Toyota Camry with both his mom's shotgun and his bags, he looked back at his apartment building and wondered if he'd ever see it again.

( ~~It was like the opposite of going to Hogwarts. Leaving the Dursley's was always an escape, but here? He never wanted to leave his mother.~~ )

“Okay, now I'm going to tell you something and you're going to listen. Don't ask questions until I'm done and _don't_ freak out. I can't handle more stress, _please,_ ” his mom said, looking back at him as she started the car.

He nodded.

“You know how your dad never showed up?” she asked, turning onto the main road

“Yea - “

“That was rhetorical,” she cut in smoothly, sending him a look that had him withering in his seat.

“Well, he's not exactly human,” she said.

“He's Hades,” Harry said because he didn't think he should make his mom go through the trouble of explaining something he already knew.

“Jesus, Harry,” she snapped, slamming her hand on the wheel and making him jump, “How the _hell_ do you know that?! **Why didn't you tell me?!**

“YOU COULD HAVE DIED!”

He winced, ashamed tears welling up in his eyes as he avoided looking towards where she sat in the front seat.

“Do you know how serious this is?!”  
  


Harry shook his head 'no' because it was becoming very apparent that she knew more about this than he did.

She made an incoherent frustrated sound in the back of her throat, closing her eyes for far too long to be safe while driving. Her knuckles were white as she gripped onto the steering wheel. She punched her hand against the dashboard in an intermittent rhythm.

Harry supposed it was a better reaction than most would have.

“Why are you so _stupid?!_ ” she said, tears streaming down her face, “it's like I'm useless around you! You're just like _him –_ too good for the puny little mortals, Jesus! _Jesus,_ Harry, why the _fuck_ can't you let me protect you, for once!”

He'd never heard his mom speak with such venom, but Harry thought it was probably a long time coming. She was right, in a way, he'd been far too independent to give her a proper chance at motherhood. It was only fair she'd be bitter.

('Mate, she's just scared and saying things she doesn't mean,' his inner Ron piped up.

He ignored it.)

He kept his mouth shut as she cried. Sometimes, interfering could make things worse.

It took 15 minutes of tense silence before she seemed calm enough for him to apologize.

“I'm sorry. I should've told you,” Harry said and she nodded sharply.

“You should've,” she replied, “the only reason I didn't tell you was because keeping you ignorant was supposed to keep you safe. You know how much I value honesty.”

Harry swallowed, wondering if he should let her explain now that she knew he wasn't entirely ignorant about his parentage.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked.

She sighed, closing her eyes once more as if to ward off her frustration.

“Monsters – things like that snake and the others that have likely come before it,” – he flinched as she met his eyes knowingly through the rear-view mirror – “they rely on smell to find demigods. If you're _aware_ of your status, your scent gets stronger. It's also why you're not getting a phone. They attract monsters.”

“Where are we going?"

“To a camp,” she said, “one for other demigods. They'll keep you safe, teach you how to fight.”

Harry nodded. From prior experience, teaching children how to defend themselves was most definitely a good idea – especially when they had powers.

“Listen,” she said, tone somehow more serious than it already was, “you can't tell anyone about your dad, not even the other kids like you. I don't know how you know, but it's dangerous information. Hell, it's probably more dangerous than even being any of the other big 3's children, at the moment. You know how much shit your dad gets from his brothers and with what I last heard from him, well...”  
  


“Big 3?”

“Y'know, Zeus, Hades, Poseidon. I'm not supposed to say their names, but I could give a rat's ass what they think.”

Ugh, ' _rat's ass'._ His mom liked that phrase too much.

(By too much, he meant that that was the first time he'd heard it and he'd very much like to never hear it again.)

The sunset outside his car window looked like taffy, the bright candy colors pulled in strings beside each other, but not mixing. Or perhaps like different strands of cotton candy swirling into a galaxy of almost unnatural pinks and purples and blues.

He wondered if the sky would be as pretty without light pollution.

(Terrible things were frequently beautiful. ~~Tom Riddle had reminded him of that enough to last a thousand lifetimes.~~ )

They had reached the countryside a few minutes before the Eagle swooped into the hood of their car.

“Is this the part where you tell me I have superpowers that can help me defeat this overgrown chicken?!”

He swore that he heard an offended squawk come from the feathered demon.

“No, this is the part where I tell you you can teleport!” she yelled, hurling her discarded jacked at him, “find the darkest place you can and cover yourself with that.

“How do you know if it'll work?!”

“I don't!”

Biting back a scream, Harry curled into a tight ball behind the passenger seat. Dutifully ignoring the sound of screeching metal and cursing, he concentrated...

But where the hell was he even supposed to concentrate on going to?!

“MOM! Where should I teleport?!”

“...Damnit!” she cursed, “Just, erghhhh, I don't know!”

“THAT'S NOT HELPFUL!” he yelled, voice a panicked screech.

“I KNOW! GIMME A SECOND HERE!”

  
The car swerved, veering violently to the left. Harry clutched the door handle by his head tightly to stay upright.

“HOME! Go home! There's a brochure for Camp Half-Blood in my bedside drawer! Find it and try to teleport based on the pictures and I'll meet you there! This Eagle'll leave me alone once you're gone! If you're not there by the time I get to camp, I'll head back home! That's 30 minutes! If it takes you longer, just stay home!"

“GOT IT!” he yelled, clenching his eyes tight to concentrate.

Harry focused on his mom's bedroom, picturing the color of her walls and even its scent. The world warped and twisted for a second, almost like apparating, before he stumbled to his knees on a carpeted floor.  
  


He laughed, adrenaline buzzing in his veins as he took stock of his surroundings. He lurched to his feet, rushing towards the bedside table unsteadily. His eyes darkened for a moment from a headache-inducing tiredness, but he paid it no mind. It wasn't the time to pay attention to any potential side effects teleporting might induce.

Opening the drawer, he quickly rifled through papers before finding a lackluster brochure with the words 'Camp Half-Blood' written on it in a cursive font.

With a jolt he realized that he left his bronze feather in the car. Seeing as that was his only weapon, he rushed to the kitchen to grab a steak knife before he looked through the brochure. Being prepared was important.

Flipping through the pages after closing himself in his mom's closet, he found a picture of a farm-house at the bottom of a hill. Assuming it was a counselor's cabin or something of the sort, he concentrated on the photo.

After five minutes of fruitless effort, he decided to look through all of the pictures to hopefully familiarize himself with the location better.

Photos of strawberry fields and a sandy beach lined the paper as well as an odd assortment of cabins. The brochure looked like it was made by a toddler, though, with the way the photos were cropped incorrectly. Some were inflated until they warped strangely, and others were compressed into thin, pancakes-like pictures.

It was a relief they weren't magical, at the very least. He didn't think he could deal with moving photos alongside the already dizzying fancy script.

It took him around ten more minutes before he felt the same swoop in his stomach that characterized whatever type of teleportation he could do in this life-time.

The world darkened for a moment, before brightening up to reveal a porch lit by the pale light of dusk.

He had a fleeting thought about the fact that he still had 3 months of school left and going to a summer camp seemed counterproductive to his education. He quickly forgot about that after seeing a man in a wheelchair smoothly transition into a centaur and race towards him. The man's concerned face was the last thing he saw before he blacked out entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, shadow-travel's only drawback is that it makes you tired (and that it degrades the material fabric of one's body but we don't talk about that). The first time Nico shadow-travels he accidentally goes to China and sleeps for a week. Since that was, y'know, a lot farther than a 30-minute drive, Harry doesn't automatically go into a sleep coma. But, the only reason why he's staying awake is because of the adrenaline, so like, I hope this makes sense?
> 
> Super wrong about something I said in the comments. So, Harry is not the son of Thanatos because I thought Thanatos wasn't a god, but a daemon. He technically is a daemon, but he's also a god. I probably would've considered him as Harry's parent had I not forgotten or (somehow) made the assumption that he wasn't a god, yikes. As it is now, Harry's already the son of Hades. Thanatos is literally Death, though, and he doesn't have any children so I don't think he'd have a kid anyway? Death is portrayed in a lot of genders across different religions so I call Death 'they', but in Riordan's books, Thanatos goes by 'he' so if Harry meets Thanatos in the future it won't be the same 'Death' from the beginning but Thanatos will still be aware of Harry's position. Death at the beginning of this story was the culmination of all of Death's counterparts across every universe so Thanatos is basically just a small piece of that.
> 
> Please, tell me I'm wrong when I make mythology or PJO lore mistakes in this story b/c there's so much lore to keep track of and I honestly would rather you rip me to shreds than keep my story embarrassingly inaccurate! I'll fix my mistakes, but that doesn't mean I won't make any!
> 
> Also, when he talks about commercials getting stuck in his head he's referring to the 'Most Interesting Man in the World' commercials by Dos Equis. Those _always_ get stuck in my head, so Harry's living out my suffering.
> 
> The revival of Percy Jackson has begun! AHHH! I'm so excited, I can't wait for the new series, ahghjdjfh! Y'all, we finally did it! 
> 
> Sorry it took so long, but again, until I finish a few of my other projects, this will not be updated frequently! I'll try to be as fast as I can, though!

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Cheesy monologues on Fate by the Grim Reaper

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Fanart for "The Endless Expanse of Immortality"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24431344) by [rosaamarilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosaamarilla/pseuds/rosaamarilla)




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